


Fell in a Bar

by MissJudith



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Bad Puns, Cussing, Drinking, Drinking Games, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Human/Monster Romance, Human/Monster Society, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV Male Character, POV Sans (Undertale), Petty Behaviors, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Puns & Word Play, Skeletons, Swear Words, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), drunks, hair petting, mustard, sharp teeth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJudith/pseuds/MissJudith
Summary: It was suppose to be Mitch's escape from the rain. Heading to the pub was meant to be a win-win night as he would get a drink and some grub. Enjoy the place's home made mustard as well. And he did! It was all going so smoothly, which should have ticked him off that something was gonna happen. He just didn't expect that something to be in the form of a short skeleton with an rough accent. Now he's giving chase and being chased back by this Sans dude. Who'll catch who first?
Relationships: Papyrus & Sans, Sans (Underfell)/Original Male Character(s), Sans (Undertale)/Original Male Character(s), UF!Papyrus & UF!Sans
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Fell in a Bar

Rain sucks. It makes everything damp and cold. Sometimes he couldn’t see more than three feet through the heavy downpour. It wouldn’t have been so bad inside, with the heater on and something warm to drink, but the heater broke, and wouldn’t be fixed for a few days. Thanks shitty apartment and your wonderful fucking dick of a landlord.

Whatever, it didn’t matter, there were plenty of fine establishments with working heaters. Just have to find one. Preferably one that also sold some good grub and beer at dirt cheap prices.

Sounds like a lot to ask for, but Mitch knew of the perfect hole in the wall pub that offered exactly that.

Mitch adjusts his hoodie as the rain pelts his hunched form. It was late, the streets were dark, and the headlights of passing cars were the only available light source. Even so, he knew every crack and dent of these streets.

When the red neon of the pub’s sign was finally in sight, an asshole accompanied by the sound of screeching tires sped down the slippery road. Of course it had to run through the biggest puddle right by Mitch, covering him in the old rainwater. Its taillights faded down the road.

This night couldn’t get any worse. Wiping the water off his tired face, Mitch runs to the pub. His clothes quickly became a second skin.

A burst of sound hits his ears as he opens the door. Immediately he’s shoving past other people, making his way to the bar counter. He’s lucky to find a free stool to claim. When he spots who’s bartending tonight he isn’t surprised. Most nights the owner of the joint is behind the bar, serving out drinks and talking shit with the patrons.

“Hey, Ron. Ron!” Mitch slams his hand against the bar, the scattered empty bottles clattering. “You fucking old bastard.”

A big burly man with a tattooed head makes his way to Mitch. There’s an unopened bottle of beer in his hand, a towel rag over his shoulder, and a deep scowl on his face. “Watch yer tongue there Cunningham. Don’ care who yer old man is. In ‘ere, ya show me respect, ‘er else.”

Mitch rests his arm against the bar, a sharp grin on his face as he eyes the unopened bottle. “Or else what? Yah ain’t gonna serve meh mah beer?” He leans over to take the bottle with his other hand only to be swatted away by the towel rag.

“Makin’ fun o’ te way I talk, aye?” Ron places the rag over his shoulder again as he uncaps the bottle with the edge of the counter. Then he takes three large gulps of beer as he places a small bowl of goldfish crackers in front of Mitch. “Yer nevah were one o’ te smart ones. Always gettin’ yerself inta trouble. When yer gonna grow up?” Ron finishes off the bottle with two more gulps before heading back to the drunks clamoring for more drinks.

Mitch flips him the bird as he leaves then takes the small bowl and turns his back to the bar to people watch. He could only eat a few crackers before he put it back on the counter. Damn geezer knew he could barely stand them.

There were two large groups playing pool in the back, a game of darts off to the far corner, and some losers handing their money over to Tammy in poker. It seemed Angela and Krista were working the floor tonight. Mitch huffs as he saw some dude try to get handsy as Krista was cleaning up.

A loud yelp and soon chairs are clattering to the floor as Krista has the guy on his knees, the dude’s hand twisted in her grip. Must have been one of the first handlocks she’s done for the night, otherwise his fingers would have been broken.

Some people laugh while others thankfully mind their damn business. None go to help the dude as he begs to be let go. Meanwhile, Angela makes her way over to Mitch. She has a tray of the joint’s supreme nachos and a mason jar of homemade mustard with her. There’s a playful glint in her eyes that has Mitch groaning internally.

“Looks like you put ol’ Ronnie in a bad mood.” Angela places the tray by Mitch’s side, but he ignores it. He knows he won’t be able to grab it quick enough from Angela if he tried.

Sighing, Mitch decides to humor her. The faster he does, the sooner he can get some grub. “I don’t know what you mean, Ange. If anyone put that aging bastard in a mood, it has to be you.” He flashes her his sharp smile as he eyes the nachos. Someone in the kitchen must love him, there was so much chilli on those chips. “You know how he gets when people call him Ronnie.”

Angela raises a brow at Mitch before sliding the food into his waiting hands. “Lil Ronnie loves when I call him that. But you keep talking like that Mitch, and you might be leaving this place sober.” He never questions why she seems to always have food ready for him when he arrives. It’s just something he’s come to accept.

“Oh! Don’t curse me like that Ange. I don’t think my liver can take that kind of abuse.” Mitch clutches his heart as he doubles over. It has Angela laughing loud enough for Ron to hear. Shaking her head, she gives Mitch a playful shove to his shoulder before walking away.

Getting her to leave was much easier than Mitch thought, but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? When he opens the jar, the spicy tang of mustard fills his nostrils. Mitch pours the condiment onto his nachos and digs in happily.

Not long after, Ron makes his way over to Mitch with a tall glass of beer. Placing the glass and a stack of napkins in front of Mitch, Ron grunts out, “Clean yerself up, gobblin’ like yer raised wit te farm animals.”

Mitch just nods his head as he half heartedly wipes his mouth. He could feel his body warming up as time passed. With food in his stomach and a cool drink, Mitch felt the tension in his shoulders relax. It’s when he’s half way done with his nachos that someone comes up to him.

“hey there bud. looks like yah got some extra musta’d on yah. yah mine helping out this bag a’ bones?”

The sudden deep growl in the voice stole Mitch’s attention from his meal, his hand had reflexively grabbed onto the mason jar. He turns around but doesn’t see anyone. It’s not until a cough is made that he looks down. Mitch locks eyes with bright red eye lights, and his first thought is, that beer must have been spiked. Looking back from his beer glass to the red lights, Mitch finishes the rest of his drink in one go.

“Ron! What the hell you put in my drink! I’m seeing shit now man.” Grumbling, Mitch shakes his head and goes back to eating his food.

“hey arsehole, i aint some fuckin’ hallucination! ‘m a fuckin’ monstah.” Mitch nearly chokes on his nacho before Ron, who finally makes his way over with another beer, pats his back, hard. The growl chimed in again, “fer asgore’s sake, yah humans are dramatic as shit.”

“Go easy on the lad. ‘e’s been gone fer a time in the 'ead.” Ron’s loud and hearty laugh is joined by the skeleton’s raspy chuckle. The two start to talk over Mitch’s head, impressive considering the skeleton’s lack of height. Mitch doesn’t pay them any mind as he chooses to go back to eating his food, only to see that his nachos were gone? The hell.

Looking around, he noticed the skeleton who had not only taken the remainder of his food, but also the mason jar with the last drops of mustard into his boney hands. The guy, assuming based on the deep voice, had just robbed him blind and of course no one was going to say anything about it. No one, but Mitch of course.

Standing up, he takes a step to loom over the Skeleton Monster. He tries to look intimidating as he stares down at him, shoulders pulled back, and face set into a scowl. Behind the counter Ron just raises a brow before he shakes his head and goes back to pouring drinks. Mitch was able to get the skeleton’s attention with his act, but that was all that went according to plan.

Instead of the monster getting nervous and giving back Mitch’s food, the dude had the nerve to laugh in his face. Or, not literally, but that was what it felt like. “No one here wants any trouble now. Just give me my nacho and mustard, and we can forget about this ever happening.” Mitch pushes past his embarrassment as he continues to hold his ground with another act.

“heheh... an’ wha' if 'm lookin' fer some trouble?” Slowly, so ever damned slowly, the monster now dubbed Skeletor, takes one of the nachos and brings it to his sharp pointy ass teeth. He opens his maw inch, by agonizing inch, before he eats the nacho whole.

This bastard has nerves of idiotic steel, that’s what he has. Mitch is a huffing mess as he goes to grab Skeletor from the front. Only, he ends up over reaching and almost stumbling. Skeletor wasn’t there, instead, Mitch would hear that same raspy laugh from behind him now. He had missed how? Mitch only had one drink…

He turned his head to see that Skeletor was sitting on one of the gambler’s tables. Some of the people didn’t seem to mind the Houdini Monster just appearing in one of their empty seats. He had eaten a few more bites of mustrady nachos before Mitch made his way towards the table.

Tammy, the paranoid gambler that she is, was guarding the cash pile just in case. Mitch goes to make another grab but misses again. Skeletor is sitting on the empty chair on the other side of the table, chip in hand. Mitch is growling as he jumps over the table but misses for a third time. Tammy is yelling while the patrons are cheering on the chase.

They are trying hard not to laugh as Skeletor just makes a show of eating while Mitch runs around the joint. From the pool tables, the sharp tooth monster chats with one of the groups as if he's been there the whole time. Mitch uses both his arms to grab him from the back but misses. To the dart corner, everyone gets startled when Skeletor appears under the board. Everyone but the monster as he just glances up and says, "bullseye, nice." Mitch does a dive grab so he's not blocking the board with his height but he holds only air. He keeps on fucking missing! Meanwhile, the thieving jerk continues to taunt Mitch to keep up as he eats his food.

It would have continued on like this if it wasn’t for an oversight on both of the male's parts. Ron had a small grin he hid behind a swig of his beer.

Kirsta. No shit taking, no time for your bull, don't mess with, Krista had had enough of their horsing around. The next time the Skeleton Monster had made his way near her, she casually stuck her foot out to hook around his to trip him forward. It causes him to fall towards a rushing Mitch who had some bug eyes at the change of events.

Mitch manages to hold the dude by the shoulders and turn before they both fall to the ground. He wants to blame Angela for the shove on his back, but she’ll say it was some spilt drink on the ground he didn’t notice. He internally would scream bullshit but no one would believe him over her in this matter. Either way, Mitch falls with a _thump_ onto the nasty, sticky floor and an _oof_ as the skeleton falls on top of him.

“Argh, why are you so heavy? Get off already, you bag of metal bones.” Mitch pushes the dead weight off of him as he sits up. He could ignore the pain in his shoulder, it wasn’t so bad. Only a three on the pain scale. He’s had, and dealt, worse.

Mitch spots the empty nacho bowl and groans in misery. Now what is he supposed to do? Order another one with more of the place’s nachos and special mustard, that's what. That mustard made everything on the menu perfect, Mitch can’t eat without it when he comes here. Sighing, he goes to stand and notices the questionable stains on his clothes. Gross.

A hand made of bones comes into his view. Looking up, Mitch sees Skeletor with a serious face on his mug. Well, as serious as a mug with a pimp shark grin could get at least. He hadn’t noticed before, but there’s a gold tooth. It’s only a second of hesitation before Mitch takes the offer and pulls himself up. He’s not too surprised that the short dude was strong enough to help him up. With a nod of his head, he thanks him and makes his way back to Ron. “I’m gonna need a strong one Ro-”

“wait up. why yah saved me back there?” Skeletor dude grabs Mitch by his arm before he could get too far away.

There’s a questionable look on Mitch’s face as he turns his head to look back. “Save? You mean the fall? Dude, it’s nothing. Didn’t think bones could handle my weight is all.” He yanks his arms back and finds an open spot by the bar to sit. He was pissed off, but he’s not gonna cry over eaten nacho and empty… mustard… What happened to the mason jar with the last bit of mustard!

He turns to look on the ground before he see’s Skeletor handing over a clean mason jar over to a giggling Angela. When did he finish off the mustard as well!?

It’s at the moment that Ron comes over with two shots of cheap vodka. Mitch hardly lifts his share up as a cheer before he’s downing that potato juice down, Ron does about the same only less desperately. “Aye'll sav' two fer ya, next time ya decide te drop by.”

Dread starts to make a home in Mitch's gut, next door to the nachos. “What do you mean, you’ll save some, Ron?”

"I said two, Cunningham," Ron holds up two thick fingers to Mitch's face before he takes the empty shot glasses and leaves to serve stouts to the other people around the bar. He leaves Mitch with a white face as the words click a forbidden part of Mitch's understanding.

The pub was all out of their mustard! That was the last jar that Ange had given him and she knew it, but didn’t tell him? He would have guarded it with his life if he had… known… Angela knew what he would have done so she purposefully kept quiet. What the hell for?

What was she planning this time? This is why Mitch likes to have nothing to do with her. She was always playing games with people she finds _'amusing'_. Sadly, he didn't find out till it was too late and he became her favorite person.

Sighing in woe, Mitch waits with an open hand for Ron to place another beer there.

-<^>-

"You look like you were having fun there Sans~"

"is zat so."

"Oh come now, Sans. You can be honest with me. I thought we were becoming fast friends!" Angela giggles into her hand as she gives Sans a bashful look.

Sans just gives her a side eye before he returns his gaze back to the human he had been messing with. Tall, looks to be close to his brother's height. Clear skin, no markings or anything of interest. Hair was more on the light and short side. Human males seem to prefer short hair, though there were some he's seen with long hair. Clothes were old and probably cheap. Definitely stained from all the times the human missed his ACT turns and ended up on the floor.

Nothing outstanding about the human's looks. But that wasn't true for how he behaved. Sans was expecting a confrontation when he stole the human's food. He really only wanted the mustard, but when Sans saw that it was mostly on top of those nachos, he couldn't resist. So it was no surprise when the human came and tried to ACT all big and bad.

Sans knows big. He knows bad. He's seen the worst in their former King of all Monsters. No human can match that ruthless desperation Sans could still see in the King's dark eyes. Not when it's only the King that Sans truly feared.

It was hard not to laugh at the human's face when he tried to use Intimidation on him. It was so sad, it was funny. Dude didn't have the right air about him, it's probably the reason why Sans got cocky. Why he taunted the human to chase him, like he did with the kid back then. Why he focused on just the humans frustrated face and bright eyes. They were a nice hazel with green streaks in them.

It was because of those eyes that Sans didn't see Krista tripped him. Fear spiked through him. He was in a Confrontation with that guy, if he had rammed into Sans, it would have dusted him. Sans didn't have enough Hope to survive such a sneak attack.

Having a third person just jump in was a common surprise move that Sans should have been on guard for from the start.

But the human was quick. Quicker than Sans was, so why did he keep missing? He not only showed Sans Mercy once by preventing their collision, but twice. The human had taken the 3 Hp damage from the fall and shook it off like it was nothing. Why did he take the hit for him like that…

After Sans ended the Confrontation, he couldn't let the human just go like that. There had to be some catch, there was always a catch in exchange for Mercy. Not to mention two of them. That was almost a life debt for some of the other Monsters.

The human just walked away with only a few words. Like the whole thing was nothing to him. So what was the point of chasing Sans all over the damn bar? Not that Sans was complaining. He was too rattled from that close brush with Falling to want to be pulled into another encounter. Even if the human had a bright soul.

"wha's his name?"

"Hmm? Do you mean Ronnie? He'd be hurt to know you forgot his name~"

Sans snarls at Angela as she walks away with a sway of her hips. She knew what Sans meant but was playing dumb. Fucking bitch and her games. It's shit like that that he keeps his distance with her. Guess he had no choice but to ask himself. It'd also be a good chance to pay the human back. Even if he was told there was no price, Sans didn't believe that for a second.

-<^>-

"Damn it, Ron! How could you be out of mustard this early?" Mitch is chugging his second beer as he whines to Ron. "Aah! It's not even 12 yet!" He wipes his mouth on his jacket, it makes Ron grimace at the ill manners. It's why Mitch did it. Call him petty, and he'll agree.

"Yer ma taught ya bettah than tha', boyo."

Mitch just glares as he slams his half filled glass onto the counter. The goldfish cracker bowl was still next to him. It didn't look like anyone ate from it since he last had some. Ha! He wasn't the only one who didn't like that shit.

Ron sighs as he rubs at his temple. Why did he put up with this damn youngster? It sure wasn’t worth the hassle, even if he did know the kid’s father. "Gots a new patron. 'e likes te stuff more than ya."

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Mitch practically stands from the stool he was sitting on. There was no way someone would love mustard more than him. There was no way. Mitch comforts himself when he thinks about the times he's drunk bottles of the stuff to cure his hangovers. Yeah, no way there was anyone else who did crazy shit like that.

"Nothin' ain't impossible, Cunningham. Ya should know tha' bettah than oth'ahs." There's a knowing look in Ron's eyes as he stares down at Mitch. Mitch just sucks his teeth as he looks to the side.

Skeletor had, at some point, sat next to him. The startle that takes over him almost makes him spill the rest of his drink. Uh, how could’ve Mitch not heard him, not that it mattered. Cough. Skeletor opens one of his eye, holes, wider. It looks like he was trying to raise a brow, without actually having one. That was pretty impressive.

"What do you want? I don't have anything else for you to steal." With that, Mitch downs the last of his beer. A trickle escapes his lips and gathers at his chin. Nothing his sleeve can’t clean up. He expects to hear a disgusted sound from the monster, but nothing. Dude is just sitting there, looking at him.

"So, what is it?" Mitch holds his hand out, in wait for another beer. He keeps his sight mostly away from Skeletor, but the staring that the monster is doing keeps him glancing back.

"heh, ron’oh, put tah human's drinks on mah tab." That got Mitch to give his full attention to Skeletor. Ron isn’t phased at the offer as he does as asked and transfers the bill over to the monster’s.

"Woah, hold up here! Who said I wanted your money?" Mitch questions if Skeletor really is a pimp with shark teeth. He sizes him up and can't tell if the dude could actually afford what he's offering. Open black leather jacket that seems slightly used, old ass red shirt underneath. There're dark grey sweatpants that look more for kids than a grown Monster. The sneakers seem to pull the outfit together, but the scuff told how often they’ve been around.

He looks as rich as Mitch. Which, at the moment, meant he wasn’t. Mitch can’t even afford to get an uber to the pub, he had to walk there to save money for drinks.

" ‘e's good fer it." Ron grunts as he places Mitch’s third glass in his hand. Mitch just hums as he tries to ignore the skeleton in the room. He takes a tentative sip of his beer as silence falls between them.

"so whas’ yah name, human." The quiet doesn't last long. Mitch just grumbles out his nickname as he continues to drink his beer. "mitch huh. teh name's sans, sans the skeleton."

"No shit, smart assless." His remark has Skele-Sans, bursting out in a gruff of a laugh. He won't admit it, but that puts a smirk on Mitch's face as well.

So they share a few witty one liners as Mitch drinks his beer. Ron comes to check in on them every now and again, he brings Sans a plate of fries with ketchup. Mitch makes a face at the condiment before he minds his own business. Sans had caught the look and shook his head in agreement. The monster pushes the bottle off to the side and eats his fries plain.

Mitch casually steals a few fries from Sans and plops them in his mouth. He gives the Monster a challenging look, but Sans just sighs as he moves the fries so they settle between the two of them. That was simple enough. The change in nature doesn't change the fact that Mitch is a petty ass. He’s planning on eating half of those mustard-less fries.

A brilliant idea flashed into his mind as payback for that wild goose chase. "So tell me something Sans. Why don't you drink? Don't tell me it'd go right through you, the food doesn't."

Sans doesn't do anything when he hears the question, but Mitch feels like he's upset at a missed opportunity to make a shitty pun. Good. "human alcohol 'es weak compared tah monstah's. 'es why i don' drink 'ere."

"Mmm, nah. I'm calling bullshit. I bet you're a lightweight, that's why you don't drink."

There's that deep rumble of a chuckle that seems to echo through the music and noise. "w'as tha’ wager, then?"

Mitch kept his gaze straight into those red eye lights as he gave a wicked half smile. "I saw the cleanly emptied mason jar. So lets wager a jar of mustard."

"fair 'nough. we got ourselves ah bet." Sans offers his hand out for Mitch to grab. There's no hesitation this time. Mitch notes that the bones are pretty warm, that there's this weird hum in the gaps of the joints against his skin. "wha are we gonna do, shots, drinks or beer?"

Mitch takes his hand back and finishes his last beer before he motions for Sans to follow him. He leads them to an unoccupied table as he gets Krista's attention. He orders from her two sets of ten shots of whiskey. Krista just gives Mitch a disbelieving stare. She’s more than aware of how broke Mitch is, with her being his neighbour in their shitty apartment.

“You have enough for that, then you have enough to pay me back.” She glares at Mitch as she holds her hand out. Mitch lets out a nervous laugh with his hands up in surrender. He almost bumps into Sans as he backs away from her. Sans has the gall to out right laugh at his plight.

"Don' worry yer head, Krista. They’re paid fer. Come 'ere, I got'em ready fer ya." In front of Ron were twenty shot glasses that he was filling as he spoke. Krista huffs as she bumps her way past Mitch to the bar.

With that settled, Mitch could finally let go of that breath as he waves Sans to take a seat. They sit across from each other, ready to get this bet going. It takes a few seconds till Krista is back with a tray of their drinks. She lines them up in a straight row of tens between them.

"Do I have to explain the rules or is it obvious?" There’s a cocky smile on his face as Mitch rests his arm on the table.

"i ain't no numbskull, like ya. we drink at'ta same time till one o'us can't." Sans leans back in his chair, one arm draped on the backrest with his own cocky grin.

“And I’ll be the referee!” Angela comes over with a skip in her step. Both men curse under their breath, Mitch faking a grin at her while Sans is obvious with his displeasure at her appearance. Thinking of a way to get rid of her, Mitch reminds her that she has work to do. She just waves his words away like they were annoying flies. When Mitch went to look for Ron for help, the man was busy chatting up some of the patrons as he cleans some glasses. “Now, if both parties are ready, let’s start.”

Grumbling, Mitch grabs his first shot while he waits for Sans to do the same. It takes the Monster a moment to accept this change of course, but he does take up his first glass. With a raise in toast, they down the liquor in one go and place the glass upside down on the table. Mitch expresses his pleasure of the warm burn with an exaggerated, “Ah!” On the other hand, Sans does a small cough, he wasn’t expecting the shot to have an actual affect on him.

They have a minute to settle down before Ange signals for them to take their second shot. This time, Sans makes a face as he grunts. Monster drinks didn’t have this effect, like it was a trail blazing heat reaching his very soul. Mitch was looking all peachy. Third shot and Sans felt like he was getting better at handling this human drink. Fourth drink and Sans doesn’t realize that his eye lights are flickering. Fifth drink and Sans slumps onto the table to keep himself steady. He’s grumbling about how stupid Mitch’s grin is looking. That every human’s face looked weird, but especially Mitch’s.

“you-you don’ un- _hick_ -under...stand. you have _hair_ . ish not fur oh sscalesss. _hair_ ish _weird_.” They’re on their eight drink when Sans starts to talk nonsense. His hand is waving all over the air, skull head lolling like it’s been cut from the string.

Mitch finds it highly amusing as he sways in his own chair. The Monster is completely slumped onto the table by now. Mitch looks to Ange who seems to be giggling into her hands. She had taken one of the empty seats between the two men as she referee.

“Hair is very nice, Sans. It feels soft, and flows like water through your hands. Have you ever touched someone’s hair before?” Angela asks as she keeps her gaze on the Monster. Mitch had a feeling where this conversation was going, but with Angela, he could never be too sure. “Next shot guys.”

Mitch takes his ninth shot, while Sans just lays on the table. If it wasn’t for those hazy red lights, Mitch would have thought he was asleep. What would a sleeping skeleton look like? Creepy… He shakes his head, but then the room starts to spin so it’s best that he doesn’t do that again. Woah. Dizzy.

“i’ve nevah touched hair. ish it like… fur?” Sans voice is soft, almost a whisper when he speaks. He’s not looking at anyone, staring at the empty shot glasses like he didn’t know what they were. With how drunk the Monster is, it’s probably true.

Angela hums before she speaks, “Not quite. I _bet_ Mitch wouldn’t mind letting you touch his.” Her eyes are closed as she talks to Sans, a large grin on her face as she faces Mitch. “For a nacho supreme on me, of course~” She knew she was playing a tricky game with Mitch, but with how drunk he was, he couldn’t care less. Free food, free mustard, free drinks. Tonight was turning out better than how it started.

He stumbles to stand up, his chair falling backwards with a clatter. With the help of the table keeping him steady, he makes his way over to Sans. Mitch had intended to sit on one of the upright chairs as he let the other quickly touch his hair. What ended up happening was, Mitch had missed and fallen on his ass to the floor. It barely makes it to his conscious, that he was on the floor, he was too interested in the fact that Sans feet couldn’t reach the floor sitting on the chair. They were dangling in the air.

Mitch knew that Sans was on the short side, most were compared to him. But this was almost childlike. The dude’s feet were even tiny! What kind of ridiculous scene was he drunkenly witnessing at this moment? Without his knowing, Mitch had rested his head on Sans’ lap as he stared at his feet. The whole time, Sans had been carding his phalanges through Mitch’s hair, blurry red stars in his sockets.

The sound of Angela giggling brings Mitch back to himself. He had almost touched those tiny feet. Damn, he was wasted. Lifting his head, he runs his hand down his face as he tries to stand up. It takes a few tries but he manages to do it. Mitch almost falls down to his knees when the door to the pub bangs open.

There, standing at the entrance holding the door open with one hand, the pouring rain still going on in the background, is a tall mother fucking skeleton. All sharp angles but not too many sharp teeth like Sans. Skeletons can have different amounts of teeth? Mitch was too drunk to handle skeleton bio 101. This new skeleton is wearing black edgy rain appropriate clothes. In Mitch’s buzzed mind, he thought this new skeleton was pretty badass. If he were sober, he still would have thought that this skeleton had a sense for flare.

When Mitch sees that there’s no red lights in this new skeletons eye holes, that sort of freaks his drunk mind. How’d he get used to seeing red lights in eye holes? Damn Sans, another thing Mitch is gonna have to get him back for. Later, when the room isn’t swaying like the high seas.

“I AM HERE FOR MY BROTHER, SANS. WHERE IS HE.”

This skeleton has a loud voice. It was grating as it was commanding. Sadly, most of the people that were still at the pub didn’t give two fucks about this newcomer. Ron is the one to point out where Sans was sitting to the tall bones. Tall bone’s eye holes seem to squint in disgust when he, another assumption based on voice, spots his brother slumped on the filthy table.

Sans doesn’t notice that his brother is there for the time being. Surprising, with that dramatic entrance and booming voice. Instead, he’s too busy staring at the hand that had touched Mitch’s hair. Moving it in all angles like he doesn’t know what to do with it now. He keeps his head laying on the sticky table while his brother takes long strides to reach him.

“SANS. HOW MUCH LONGER ARE YOU GOING TO BE SITTING AROUND HERE FOR.”

Sans barely raises his head to see who's talking to him. When he notices that it’s his brother, the hazy stars return to his regular points that widen. “b-bro,” he shouts in a stutter slur, “hey brooh!” He moves to sit upright in his chair, though the effort only results in him lifting his head. There’s this look in his lights, like he had some important news to say. So Sans moves as close to his brother as he can before he drunk whispers, “hair ish nice. why can’t we ‘ave some? tha’s so sa-ad, bro.”

Tall bones gives Mitch and Angela a once over, as if assessing whose fault this event is to blame. Mitch, now back on his feet, just raises a brow as he attempts to make it back to his chair. Even if the state Sans is in now is his fault, he’s not going to admit it. There was also Angela to blame, she was the one to encourage Sans about the hair thing. All Mitch did was get the guy drunk.

It’s only a second that tall bones give them his attention before he focuses his gaze on his intoxicated brother. “WHAT NONSENSE ARE YOU SPEAKING BROTHER? COME, IT IS TIME FOR USE TO RETURN HOME. YOU ARE LATE.”

“wait wait bro. wait.” This time, Sans does manage to sit his boney assless up. “ah need, ah need… shit. wah did ah need.” Sans stuff his hands into his short pockets and rummages around. It takes him so long that his brother starts to tap his heeled foot in annoyance. “ ‘ere it ish! mish, do te thing.” He throws a black flip phone at Mitch, which is only due to luck that he was able to catch it.

Now both brows are raised in shock. The fuck, this dude actually wants to get his number after all the shit they’ve been through? Just because he’s drunk, doesn’t mean that Mitch forgot about the nacho chase, the empty mason jar, or the head petting. Okay, that last one was Angela, but it still hurt his pride that he let some dude pet his head.

Mitch has half a mind to throw the phone back to Sans with a ‘Fuck you!’ before another wonderful idea pops into his head. So Mitch fumbles with the old school phone settings before he manages to insert a new contact. He names himself _Mustard Mitch_ and even takes a photo of himself to save as his icon. With a laugh, he slides the phone back to Sans who smiles back at him.

Now Mitch is sure that Sans will remember who he is tomorrow.

Sans picks up his phone, and his brother picks him up like a sack of potatoes. Tall Bones marches out the door with the sternest bitch face to ever grace the Earth. Soon after, Mitch could hear the revving of a car’s engine as it starts up and speeds away.

“Alrite, boy. Yer mischief’s done fer teh day.” Ron makes his way over to Mitch, ready to hand over the bill for the nachos earlier. Angela plucks it out of his hands though, with a wink. She did say it was on her after all. “Ah gots nothin’ bah imps in meh pub.” Ron just shakes his head and starts closing up the joint. He’s yelling, “Last Call!” as Mitch sways his way to the door.

Before he can get his ass out the door, Krista is there to pull him back. She sits him in one of the chairs and tells him to wait. Mitch grumbles about being told what to do, but compiles. With her shift over, Krista comes back in her raincoat and pulls Mitch into her car. She drives them both back to their apartment building before she kicks him out of her car.

Through the night, Mitch had a satisfied smile on his face. Even when he trips and falls as he makes it back to his room with the broken heater. He’s a chuckling mess when he plops himself onto his couch and falls fast asleep.

He wishes he could see the look on Sans face when he realizes all the shit Mitch had pulled on him.

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you guys think about Mitch and Sans(Red)?  
> Leave me some comments about your thoughts alright. They might help me get the second chapter out in a reasonable time. Maybe...


End file.
